Deb is back on food topics yet again. 4-14-15

 

***It’s interesting to me that here, raw eggs not refrigerated. They sit right out on counters. You can buy them by 4’s, 6’s or dozens, or by the individual egg. Many of them are dated on each egg. I guess the assumption is that you buy them as you need them and use them fairly quickly. Of course, there are all sorts of eggs available besides chicken: tiny quail eggs, big goose eggs, duck eggs of different color, and I’ve even seen ostrich eggs. That’s one place where buying a single egg really makes sense.

 

***The Parisian tap water is perfectly safe to drink and actually doesn’t taste bad, but it’s very hard with a whole variety of minerals (perhaps one reason fewer French women suffer from osteoporosis.) The hardness is quite a pain to deal with. Anything that the water touches (faucets, sinks, etc.) show spots right away, and if neglected can be challenging to deal with. You must add salts in dishwasher and washing machine to keep them from clogging up from the minerals. I guess clothes can ever get “crunchy” if the salts aren’t added to keep the minerals at bay.

 

***I’m still adapting to cooking differences here, and grateful for the cooktop advice I got from Reba Savageau (and hoping the Elizabeth is having similar good luck adapting to my gas stove in Denver.) I’m amazed at how quickly onions & shallots cook. I’m on the verge of scorching them each time. It’s like Madrid and once I get it beaten into my head, it’s wonderful and fast. Must be the altitude, or that they’re so fresh, or that they’re a different variety. Who knows?

 

***We’ve eaten the best mangos we’ve had since we were in Bali with Gail & Peter. There are bunches of varieties. One was the meatiest and sweetest I’ve ever had, but I can’t identify it dependably. I have trouble reading French handwriting and it affects all sorts of things, like not being able to figure out what the handwritten labels on produce bins say. So, for example, I can’t figure out the name of apples I bought so I can tell the cashier. I point and gesture a lot.

 

***Speaking of gestures, we have to concentrate with our number gestures in the markets. “One” is signified with a thumb. If you hold up an index finger, you’ll invariably get two of whatever. Even reading numbers requires some concentration. It strikes me that European numbers look closer to their Arab originals from the medieval period. Ones look a lot like our sevens, fours look like nines, etc. But maybe it’s just me.

 

***I had commented on food spoiling quickly, but had neglected to mention that we found one source of our problem: our refrigerator has a distinct temperature zone for each shelf, colder on the bottom, at least as warm as room temp on the top (Warren refers to it as the “slow cooker”). I only discovered it a while ago, and thought our refrigerator was malfunctioning until I read the manual. Since storage is such a premium here, people want to be able to store food at exactly the temperature they want, for example, cheese much warmer than meat.

 

***In our neighborhood, not noted on any of the Paris guides for fine dining, we’ve been exploring the local possibilities. I had spotted a restaurant/salon de the (teashop) near our shops as I was washing my hands in one of my beloved Wallace fountains. The outside was certainly not impressive, but I liked the look of the menu. Yesterday, after we spent a morning hunting the brocantes (used stuff dealers) at little weekend flea market near us, I suggested that we try lunch at the place I’d seen. When we got there, no one was in sight except one waiter in white shirt and long red apron. The lack of patrons made Warren decidedly and understandably concerned, but we were quickly greeted by a dark-suited waiter and led through several rooms toward the back, into what turned out to be a nicely furnished room complete with a lush outside grotto and fountain, and with several groups of discretely chatting eaters. Place was very elegant and we had a delightful, if a bit expensive, lunch. Actually, it was only expensive because of the wine we opted for. Service was impeccable (one young waiter almost tripped over his feet trying to get to Warren before he poured his own wine.) I won’t bore you with the food, but suffice to say, we’ll be going back soon. It was another lesson in not taking things at face value here, just like the doorways into unexpectedly lovely courtyards. (We found the restaurant later online and were unsurprised to find that other diners had liked it as much as we.)